2 Lowcountry Bombshell

by Susan M. Boyer

  “Did you file a report?”

  “No. I couldn’t. I had a funeral to plan. The police officers were very kind to me. I think they must have felt sorry for me. I refused to report the burglary or the assault. They tried to get me to, at first. Burglaries aren’t a high priority, but there had been two others in the neighborhood. But I was a mess. Finally, they left me alone. I couldn’t even talk about being tied up and left like that. That’s when I started seeing Doctor Gadsden.”

  “Did you see the guy who attacked you?”

  “No. He wore a ski mask.”

  “Was their anything familiar about his voice?”

  “He never said a single word. So you see, I couldn’t identify him. Why put myself through talking about it to strangers when there was no hope of catching him?”

  “How did he get in?”

  “He came in through the front door. He must have picked the lock because the door wasn’t forced. I was in the shower. I never even heard him until he was in the bathroom with me. He pushed back the shower curtain, grabbed me and tied me to the bed. I kicked and fought. But he was too strong. He gagged me. And then started going through our things, looking for valuables. Before he left, he held a knife to my throat and stared at me for the longest time. He took the gag out and kept the knife to my throat. It’s like he was warning me not to scream. It was senseless. We didn’t own a thing worth all of that.”

  “What did he take from your house?”

  “Everything he could carry. He tore the place apart. It’s like he was trying to destroy what he couldn’t take. He was very angry.”

  My brain vibrated. “Calista, was this before, or after, you claimed the lottery prize?”

  “Before. I didn’t even know about the money, so no one else did, that’s certain.”

  “Did anyone else know the numbers Joe played?”

  Calista shrugged. “It’s possible, I guess.”

  I pondered that for a moment. As motives go, seven hundred million dollars was a humdinger. If someone had known the numbers, he might have carjacked a man to get the ticket. And once he’d killed that man, he might believe the widow owed him the jackpot. It felt like I was on to something solid.

  Gently, I said, “I think maybe your burglar did know. Maybe he was looking for the lottery ticket. I’ll bet you he killed Joe for that ticket. Where was it?”

  Calista sat up straight, her eyes round. “It was inside his lucky cap. Normally, he kept them in his wallet. But I’d gotten him a new wallet a few days before. He’d started putting them in his ball cap for luck, he said. I thought they didn’t fit in the new wallet without folding or something, but he didn’t want to hurt my feelings.”

  “I don’t think that carjacker killed Joe for eleven dollars and change or a ride in his Cadillac. I think he killed him for that lottery ticket, and when he didn’t find it on Joe, he came looking for it at your house. Your address would have been on the car registration. And the burglar would’ve had Joe’s keys.”

  “That’s why he trashed the place. And that’s why he was so angry. But why wouldn’t he ask me where it was?”

  “That would’ve been too risky.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “If he’d asked you where the ticket was, and you didn’t know, and he’d let you live, you’d have known what he was after and reported it. Then there would’ve been a much higher probability of him getting caught. They would have tied him to Joe’s murder. But, he couldn’t kill you if you didn’t know where it was. With you dead, he wouldn’t have known what would happen to the money. If he’d found the ticket, he would’ve killed you. But without the ticket in his hand, he needed you alive to claim the prize so he could come back later and get the money.”

  “Joey was wearing the ball cap. He had the ticket. The police returned it to me with his personal effects that had no value as evidence. I found it by accident. I was wearing the cap around the house. I felt something in there. The only reason I even checked the numbers is because it was on the news that the winning ticket had been sold at the mini-mart near our house, but the prize hadn’t been claimed. The first thing I did was call an attorney who specializes in lottery winners.”

  “That was smart.”

  “I can’t believe it. But I do. It never made sense to me why anyone would carjack a minor league baseball coach. Why not some lawyer or banker driving a Mercedes? This makes perfect sense. He was looking for the ticket.”

  “Not only do I believe he was looking for that ticket, I think he’s still looking for the money.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  While Blake and Nate interviewed Ryder Keenan that Monday morning, the Charleston Police Department executed a search warrant on his house. They found Rohypnol, a jacket splattered with blood which was a type-match for Jim Davis, and the gun used to kill Harmony. Keenan swore it was all planted. That was all he said before he lawyered up. Sonny and Blake were convinced he was guilty. Me, not so much.

  Mack Ryan was busy doing damage control. He had one team at Calista’s house all Monday afternoon testing equipment, and another going through logs at SSI offices. Her round-the-clock security was still in force.

  Tuesday morning, Nate and I splurged and went to the Cracked Pot for breakfast. We ran an extra three miles to make up for what I planned on eating. I might have had other motives for suggesting we go out. Moon Unit Glendawn was a great source of island information.

  “Well, good morning, y’all,” Moon Unit called from behind the counter. “Sit anywhere you like. I’ll be right over.”

  “Let’s snag that back booth,” I said.

  The bells jangled behind us, announcing more arrivals. We hustled to the only empty booth and slid in quickly. Nate picked up a menu.

  “I know what I want,” I said. I could already taste the red eye gravy and biscuits.

  “I think I’ll have what you’re having. Locals always know the menu best.”

  I reached for his hand. “It won’t take long for you to feel like a local.”

  His expression was unreadable.

  Moon Unit appeared by the table. “Hey, sweetie. My, my, what do we have here?” She looked Nate over like she could just eat him up with a spoon.

  I said, “Moon Unit, have you not met Nate?”

  Nate said, “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure. Nate Andrews.” He offered Moon Unit a hand.

  She took it and held on. “Nate Andrews.” She looked at me.

  “Yes,” I said. “He’s Scott’s brother. They are nothing alike.”

  “Well, of course not.” Moon dragged the word into three syllables. “I’m so sorry for your family’s misfortune.”

  “Thank you,” Nate said. He gave me a look that screamed make it stop.

  I said, “Moon Unit we are starving. We ran nearly ten miles this morning. I’d like scrambled eggs with cheese, country ham, grits, and biscuits with red eye.”

  “Sweetie, I know what chu want for breakfast, right down to ice in your orange juice and Splenda and cream in your coffee.” She turned to Nate. “What would you like, darlin’?”

  “I’d like the same, except eggs over easy, please.”

  “Coming right up.” She whirled away.

  “She’s energetic,” Nate said.

  I laughed. “That’s one way to put it. She’s harmless. We’ve been friends since high school.”

  Nate raised his eyebrows.

  Moon Unit set down two mugs, a pot of coffee, a ramekin of sweetener packets, and a small pitcher of cream. “I can’t hardly believe we’ve got us another dead body on our hands, can y’all?”

  “It’s a tragedy,” I said.

  “Hard to believe,” Nate murmured.

  Moon picked up the coffee pot and poured. She shook her head, “Mmm, mmm, mmm.”<
br />
  “Moon, how well do you know Elenore Harper?” I asked.

  She screwed up her face. “She’s an odd duck. Not well. I doubt anyone does. I can’t think what possessed Warren to marry her. Him being a doctor and all. Lauren is a much better fit for him. She’s just the sweetest—”

  I said, “Did you ever meet Elenore’s oldest child?”

  “That boy? I met him a time or two. You know she kept moving back and leaving, moving back and leaving. He was a year or so older than us. What was his name? She consulted the ceiling. “It’ll come to me.” She rushed off to greet someone else.

  Nate tilted his head at me. “Did we come here so you could pump her?”

  I reached for an innocent look. “I came for country ham, biscuits, and gravy.”

  “Nate and Sonny are convinced they have the right guy.”

  “It feels too neat. I’ll have to tie him to that lottery ticket before I buy it. And someone needs to explain how the Rohypnol got into the tea. What was your read on him? From the interview?”

  Nate shrugged. “He didn’t seem the type. My instincts would’ve pegged him for innocent. But my instincts aren’t admissible in court, and all that evidence is.”

  “Did he have an alibi for Friday night?”

  “By the time we got to that question, he was under arrest and had lawyered up. He’s not answering any more questions.”

  “This smells like a frame to me,” I said.

  “Liz, let it go. Two jurisdictions of police departments are working this case. Calista has around the clock security. There’s strong evidence against Keenan, who was one of your prime suspects just yesterday.”

  “I know, I know.”

  “Then relax. Let’s go for a swim later. The temperature’s down to something below broil. How about a beach day?”

  I winced. I still had too many loose ends.

  “After we build a sand castle, we can wash the sand off each other…” Nate smiled wickedly.

  “How about a compromise?”

  “And that would be?”

  “After breakfast, I can work for two hours wrapping things up so I feel comfortable. Then we’ll have lunch and spend the afternoon on the beach.”

  “And then I can wash the sand off of you?”

  “Why, naturally.” I offered him my sultriest smile.

  “Deal.”

  Moon Unit delivered our breakfast. “I’m still thinking on it. Seems like he had two first names.” She whirled and was gone.

  I needed to figure out what to do about Dr. Gadsden. Calista remained unconvinced that his relationship with her was inappropriate. Because I worked for her, I couldn’t call up whatever agency regulated therapists and file a report. My loyalty was to her, but that also meant protecting her from unscrupulous headshrinkers. I’d have to deal with him later—find a way to convince her.

  I zeroed in on Ryder Keenan, digging deeper into his background. Except for the fact he was in debt over his head, there were no red flags. And a lot of people in this country had debt. I called Mack Ryan, and he told me Keenan had been off Friday night. So he could’ve been the guy on the ferry.

  But he wasn’t Elenore’s love child. His family was from Summerville, but they’d lived there for several generations, and his parents were still married to each other.

  I dug around for a birth certificate with Elenore’s maiden name—Causby—but still couldn’t find birth records for any children of hers except her three children with Warren. Her older son must’ve been born out of state. My databases accessed all fifty states, but the information available varied from state to state, as did the search criteria and the completeness of information. This would take more time.

  Then I started fleshing out Joe Fernandez’s profile, looking for any connection who might have known about the lottery numbers. But that’s not the kind of information stored in databases. I searched the archives of the Post and Courier and read everything they’d printed about Joe’s death. There was nothing about the burglary or Calista’s attack. And not a word about that lottery jackpot after the one mention of the unclaimed prize. Calista’s advisors had done a good job of keeping her anonymous.

  I needed to talk to the staff at the mini-mart, though I realized it was unlikely the same clerks would be there several years later. That type of job was not exactly a long-term career. I was just about to shut the archive window down when a headline caught my eye: Convenience Store Clerk Missing.

  I read the article three times.

  I called Calista. “Did you know the clerk who sold Joe the winning Powerball ticket disappeared the same night Joe was killed?”

  She inhaled sharply. “I had no idea. I was in sort of a state for months after Joey died and…the burglary. The law firm I hired claimed the prize for me, but that was more than a month later. They never mentioned anything about the clerk going missing. Do you think he did it? He could easily have remembered the numbers. Joe bought tickets at the same store every time.”

  “I don’t know yet,” I said. “If so, he’s not acting alone. He could be in on it—part of a conspiracy. It’s either that, or someone made him disappear because he knew whose numbers those were. Is your Marine on duty?”

  “Yes. I’ve invited him in for lemonade.”

  “Calista, send him right back outside. I don’t think we’re in the clear yet. Someone needs to be on guard.”

  “All right.”

  A quick call to Sonny verified my suspicion. Roy Lee Jenkins had never been found.

  Nate held me to my deal, even after I told him about Roy Lee Jenkins. He was not swayed by my concern for poor Roy Lee’s mamma, who had never found out what happened to her only son.

  “Liz, you can’t make everything all right for everybody,” Nate said. He said this to me a lot.

  Finally I gave in. Nate can be very persuasive when he sets his mind to it. We spent Tuesday afternoon and evening frolicking outdoors and in. It was fun—we kept things light. Maybe too light to suit me. There was a pall over my happiness. It was unusual for Nate and me to disagree on a case. He might think this one was solved. But every instinct I possessed screamed it wasn’t.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Early Wednesday, I headed over to West Ashley. The clerk at the Mini Mart on Sam Rittenberg was busy, so I browsed until the crowd thinned. By that time he was eying me like maybe I was casing the joint.

  I approached the counter with my Diet Cheerwine slowly, smiling. His nametag labeled him as Boone. I showed Boone my PI license. That seemed to calm his nerves.

  “Boone, were you working here a few years ago when someone bought that big lottery ticket?”

  “No ma’am. I ain’t worked here but three months.”

  “Do you know anyone who was working here then?”

  “Prolly the manager was. His name is Mister Patel.”

  “Does Mister Patel come in today?”

  “Yes, ma’am. He’ll be in at ten. He’s real prompt.”

  I nodded. “Good to know. Boone, if it’s okay with you, I’ll just pay for my Cheerwine, and wait in my car for Mister Patel.”

  He shrugged. “Well, sure, okay.” He rang me up.

  At five minutes to ten, a gentleman arrived and walked behind the counter. Boone pointed at me and was explaining all about me when I walked back into the store.

  “Good morning,” I said.

  “Good morning,” said Mr. Patel. “How may I help you?”

  I asked if he had managed the store when the big lottery ticket was sold.

  “Oh, yes ma’am. Very exciting. The store won a prize, too, for selling the ticket.”

  “Do you remember the gentleman who sold the ticket? Roy Lee Jenkins?”

  “Yes, yes. I don’t know what happened to him. He left work one nigh
t and disappeared. His mother reported him missing. I checked with the police several times. I don’t think they ever found him.”

  “Was he unreliable? The type to maybe just quit and leave town and not say anything?”

  “Oh, no ma’am. He was very conscientious. Came in early for his shifts. He was always available to take an extra shift if someone called in sick. Ehh…he was a little strange—very, very quiet. Hard to engage in conversation. But he was polite to the customers. He was a good employee.”

  For Roy Lee’s sake, I’d been hoping to hear he’d wandered off before. “Mr. Patel, do you have cameras in the store?” I could clearly see that he had several.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you tape the feeds?”

  “Yes. But the tapes are reused every thirty days.”

  Damnation.

  “Unless there’s a reason to keep them.” He smiled.

  “Did you keep the tape from the night the big ticket was sold?”

  “Yes, that one we kept.”

  “Did the police ever ask you for it? After Roy Lee disappeared?”

  “No. I thought they might, but no one ever asked to see it. There were many crimes to solve—murders, gang activities, drugs. In a tourist town, it is important to make people feel safe. The police were very, very busy. There was no evidence Roy Lee was a victim of a crime. I suspect they thought Roy Lee simply left town. His mother made a very big disturbance with the police department. One of the police officers thought he left to get away from her.”

  “May I see the tape?”

  He hesitated. “Are you searching for Roy Lee?”

  I decided to keep things simple. “Yes.”

  “The man who won all the money. Did he ever get it? It was very strange. We never heard. Usually there’s a big ceremony.”

  “The prize was claimed.” I offered him my sunniest smile. “Is the tape here?”